


Anger is Comforting in the Form of a Grumpy Southern Doctor

by MarisaKateBella



Series: Why Does No One Think About the Aftermath? [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek (2009), Star Trek XI
Genre: Aftermath, Hurt/Comfort, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:43:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarisaKateBella/pseuds/MarisaKateBella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few one-shots that will talk about each of the main characters (bridge crew) in the direct aftermath of the Neruda mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anger is Comforting in the Form of a Grumpy Southern Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Star Trek story, so please be nice, but at the same time I would appreciate corrections in the terms and the like. I tried. This fic series is going to be more about me exploring the different characters and getting a feel on how to write everybody more than anything else. Alright? :D Let me know what you think about the voices of the characters. I'm probably going to write most of them from Jim's perspective, a couple from Bones' and maybe one or two from other peoples.

On the Bridge the ceiling is cracking and the hull is splitting. Down in engineering Scotty is running through the maze of machinery wracking that genius brain of his for a solution. Jim is in the captain’s chair, heart pounding as he watches the black hole suck his father’s murderer into the darkness, a thrill running through him that he doesn’t know whether or not he should feel. Nyota is frantically flipping switches with hands that tremor, trying to get a hold of Starfleet Command; Sulu’s hands are also trembling as he feels the vibrations of the Enterprise as she tries desperately to break from the gravitational pull. Chekov is watching wide-eyed and panicked, blue eyes flipping from Sulu to Jim as he tries to catalogue everything that is happening, tries to make sense of it. Spock sits calmly at his station, eyes fixed on the readouts coming from the ship’s automatic logs, and if he closes his eyes for a moment to try and regulate his breathing patterns, well, everyone else is too hysterical to notice.

But Leonard, who is currently wrist deep in Pike’s opened back, feels nothing but the soft tissue of the Captain’s neck and hears nothing but the slow and constant beat of Pike’s heart. The ship is trembling around him, could be falling to pieces, he doesn’t know, but his hands are steady. All he knows is that he has to get that damn Ceti Eel out of Pike’s head before more damage could be caused. His scalpel slowly cuts through the flesh, and he knows that this is not going to be pretty when all is said and done, but he clenches his jaw and uses the tweezers Nurse Chapel hands him, that look more like old-time pincers used for pulling teeth than something that should be used for delicate brainstem surgery, to remove the bug from Pike’s brain. He drops it into a bowl that is provided by a nurse that he doesn’t recognize, and takes a moment to wonder where the _fuck_ Nero got a goddamn Ceti Eel from in the first place, before he uses a combination of old-fashion stitches and a regenerator to patch up the back of Pike’s neck.

As soon as the biobed has been moved and Pike has begun to come off the anesthetics Leonard finally takes a moment to glance at the digital clock in the corner of his PADD: 2201. Great, he’d been in surgery for over seven hours. The Medbay is a wreck, loose wires still temporarily spark and several pieces of equipment have been severally damaged but thankfully no one had been hurt spare minor breaks and bruises. Well, Captain Pike aside, he amends to himself. He takes a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh, trying to clear his thoughts; his brain is coming down off adrenaline, leaving an unpleasant buzzing in his ears and an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion.

He remembers, a few moments too late, that his best friend is sitting in the captain’s chair, where he’s been for over twelve hours now, and that’s not to mention the fact that all of them have been up for longer than twenty four hours. He sighs and turns to Nurse Chapel, who seems to always appear right at the moment he needs her. “I’m going to the Bridge, comm me if anything changes with Pike.”

She smiles and pats his shoulder, nodding understandingly. He shakes his head as he steps into the lift. “Bridge,” he manages to grunt out, slouching against a wall. When the doors slip open he walks onto the Bridge, taking a moment to look around. He recognizes no one except for Spock, and of course the fluff of blonde hair he can see from over the back of the captain’s chair, tilted to one side as it rests on one of Jim’s hands. Jim’s shoulders are slumped forward and he coughs once. That doesn’t sound good.

Leonard comes up to stand next to Jim, eyeing him critically with his arms crossed over his chest. Jim isn’t even aware he’s standing there; he’s staring out over the top of the replacement pilot’s head, watching the stars. “Captain,” Leonard barks, and feels grimly satisfied that Jim snaps to attention, but only momentarily because he takes in the way that the Captian winces at the sudden movement and grabs his ribs. Leonard’s eyebrow rises, but Jim just smiles and waves it off.

“Bones!” He meets Leonard’s eyes and his smile slowly slips.

“Captain, how long have you been on the Bridge?”

Jim looks down at his feet and takes a moment too long to answer.

“The Captain has currently been on the Bridge for a total of 14 hours and 12 minutes, he has finished Gamma shift and is a three-fourths of the way through the Beta shift.”

Leonard turns towards Spock, who has spoken from his station behind the captain. Leonard glances at Jim with a scowl but it isn’t noticed because Jim is staring at Spock with a look of betrayal on his face, Spock coolly holds his gaze.

“The Captain has sent all other key members of the Bridge to Medbay and then rest but has stubbornly remained in the captain’s chair despite several attempts to get him to relinquish it. He is also severally injured and I suggest—“

“Spock.” Jim speaks in what is clearly a _shut the fuck up right now_ voice. Surprisingly, Spock picks up on this and promptly spins back around to face his station. Jim slowly drags his eyes to look up at Leonard, who still has his arms crossed and is using the fact that he is currently towering over Jim to look particularly imposing.

“Bones,” Jim says warily, “I’m—“

“Don’t even start with me, Jim.”

Jim, for his part, does wince guiltily.

“Medbay, now.”

“But Bones—“ and the whine is enough to set Leonard off.

“Don’t even think about ‘but Bones-ing’ me. You sound like a child, not like _acting_ Captain. You have almost completed two shifts on the Bridge, which, if I’m correct, is against regulations unless there is an emergency that requires your constant attention; but it looks to me like we’ve been drifting in space for the better part of six hours at least.” He looks over at his shoulder towards Spock, who he knew would be listening and waits for the confirming nod before continuing. “I can see just from standing here that your throat is bruised, possibly a broken trachea, your hands are a mess, and that cut below your eye is going to get infected, not to mention the broken ribs—“

“My ribs aren’t—“

“At least three of them.” Jim looks like a petulant child, like he wants to argue, so Leonard fixes him with a steady glare that cuts through him. “Don’t. Do not make me pull rank.” Jim sighs heavily and then coughs, rubbing his throat and looking up guiltily from below his lashes. He stands and Leonard can see he’s exhausted, his shoulders are slumped and his head hangs towards his chest, probably to make breathing easier with the swelling in his trachea Leonard doesn’t need a tricorder to diagnose. Spock stands in the same moment and makes his way towards the captain’s chair. Jim and Spock stare at each other for a long moment before Leonard puts his hand on Jim’s arm and gently tugs him away from his territorial stance over the stupid chair. The rest of the crew does their best to pretend nothing is happening around them.

“Rest well, Captain.” Spock says as he sits and Jim tries to clear his throat, winds up coughing again.

“Thanks,” he manages to rasp out and then he’s letting Leonard guide him to the lift. They step inside and Jim exhales noisily, leaning partially on the wall and partially on Leonard. Leonard keeps his hand on Jim’s arm, feels the tension coiled there and takes a moment to breathe. Jim’s hair is brushing his chin; he can smell the sweat there and something that’s just so _Jim_ and he feels a pressure in his heart he didn’t know was there start to unravel. He moves his thumb in a circular motion on Jim’s bicep. He inhales, breathing in the scent of his friend, and finally allow himself to think for the first time since they dropped out of warp into a starship junkyard.

He could’ve lost Jim. He could’ve died. He has lost almost everyone he’s come to know in the last three years. He feels the beginnings of bile and panic running up his throat and he clenches Jim’s arm. Thankfully the lift doors slide open before he can go into a full out grief-induced panic attack. He guides Jim into a private room, closing the curtains around them. He prods Jim until he sits on the biobed and the monitor immediately registers Jim’s heartbeat and he lets himself take a moment to close his eyes, listening to the sound and letting it anchor him to the here and now. Jim is quiet, staring down at his shoes and looking for all the world like a child who was caught eating candy before dinner.

“Bones—“ he says, and he sounds so tired, like he’s aged ten years in one day.

“I know, Jim.”

Jim looks up at him with those brilliant blue eyes and nods, pressing his lips together in a thin line. They stare at each other for a moment, Leonard taking in Jim’s features, the ones that until now he had taken for granted as an ever-present part of his life, realizing all over again how he could’ve lost him today. He doesn’t realize Jim is doing the same. Finally, Leonard speaks.

“Take off your shirt.”

“I mean I’m pretty tired, but I guess if you’re up for it, I am.”

Leonard turns around from where he’d been preparing a hypo to catch the tail end of Jim’s cocky-bullshit smile before it disappears at the sight of the hypo in Leonard’s hand.

“C’mon Bones, I’m not that bad.”

Bones just looks at him and jabs the hypo into Jim’s neck. It’s a testament to how truly worn out Jim is that all he does is make a strangled noise in his throat.

“Now, take off your damn shirt.” Leonard growls.

Jim winks at him and Leonard refrains from cuffing him on the head since he has the sinking suspicion a concussion may be on the growing list of injuries on the body before him. Jim grabs the bottom of his black shirt and begins to lift it over his head, he gets past his bellybutton before he winces and a hiss slips through his lips. He grins sheepishly at Leonard. “A little help?”

Leonard sighs but steps forward and carefully pulls on one of Jim’s sleeves. Jim slips his arm out of it and Leonard stretches it over his head, and pulls it off the other arm. “Jesus Jim,” Leonard chokes out when he sees the extent of his friend’s injuries.

“If you think that’s bad, you should see my ass. That son of a bitch hurts.”

Leonard doesn’t pay attention to Jim’s wisecracks; he knows it’s only him trying to distract Leonard from the full amount of the Captain’s injuries. Leonard gently ghosts his fingers over the bruised flesh that makes up Jim’s torso, the muscles ripple involuntarily with pain as he prods tender spots on Jim’s stomach and ribs. The skin is hot and tight and he can tell Jim has been in pain for a while now, adrenaline wearing off hours ago. He catalogues the ribs, three broken, and thanks God that his lung wasn’t punctured.

Jim sits quietly for the most part, listening to Leonard’s consistent monologue of his injuries: _three broken ribs, bruises, contusions, frostbitten on three fingers_. A soft smile spreads on his face that Leonard doesn’t notice until he moves his attention to Jim’s throat. It’s heavily bruised and irritated. He presses his fingers gently against Jim’s Adam’s apple, which causes him to suck in a breath and then cough raggedly. Leonard steadies Jim’s head by wrapping a hand behind his neck. They meet eyes briefly, and Leonard does nothing to conceal the concern there.

“Bones, I’m fine.” Jim says quietly, and they are so close that Leonard can feel his breath on his lips.

“Dammit Jim, no you are not. Your trachea is broken, your ribs are broken, your fingers are frostbitten, your lucky your eye isn’t swollen shut, and you probably have a concussion.” He takes the hand that he had rested on the back of Jim’s neck and feels his scalp with tender fingers. “Yep, definitely a concussion.” He finds the knot on Jim’s head and probably should stop, but he continues to run his fingers through Jim’s hair and watches as Jim half closes his eyes for a moment, both of them taking comfort from the contact.

“Bones,” Jim says fondly, grabbing Leonard’s hand and pulling it from his hair. “Stop worrying. I meant I’m going to be fine.” They stare at their hands, Leonard’s one clasped in both of Jim’s. Jim turns Leonard’s hand palm up and watches it as it shakes. “I’m okay. I know, I probably scared the crap out of you.”

Leonard narrows his eyes and Jim laughs, then winces. “It’s alright now.”

And then Leonard is being wrapped up in Jim’s arms. He rests his head gently on Jim’s shoulder which is hot on his cheek and tenderly circles Jim’s ribs in a hug. They stay like that for a few moments before Jim pulls away and looks at him with a small smile. “Thanks for worrying about me, Bones; someone’s got to do it.”

Leonard just hums in agreement and tries to swallow down the affection for the young man in front of him. Leonard patches up Jim the best he can and by the time Jim’s shrugged into his shirt again he looks almost like he did before they left on this godforsaken trip, minus the receding cut under his eye. “Sleep. Now.”

“Doctor’s recommendation?” Jim smiles.

“Doctor’s orders,” Leonard snaps. All it does is cause Jim to grin wider and hop from the biobed. He stumbles slightly and then hisses in pain. “Take it easy, Jim. Please.” Jim opens his mouth as if to argue but Leonard watches him search his face and then he closes his mouth. The damn kid knew what he put Leonard through, and he sure as hell might not believe in no-win scenarios but he has enough sense to know when a battle is lost. He simply nods and strolls out of the Medbay, giving Nurse Chapel a smirk and a mock salute as he walks by.

And later, when Bones finally zombie-walks out of Medbay, finds himself inside his quarters, kicking his shoes off and stumbling towards the bed without even turning on the lights, and lands on something that is definitely not bed shaped…later, when he finds himself laying on top of the covers on his too small bed, with Jim curled around him: one arm thrown over his torso and his blonde head tucked into Leonard’s side. Well, no one needs to know the Captain didn’t spend that night in his own quarters.


End file.
